Teeth Clutched In Furious Fists
Teeth clutched in furious fists,
Miles high above the mists,
Eyes thrust on identity’s this,
A smile wandering far amiss.
So this is the face of a simile,
Resting peacefully in eternity,
Here’s a figure of stoic rectitude,
Reflecting over mass ineptitude.
Of time I once knew,
When my lady a sword withdrew,
A flirt upon an ocular lance,
Its mark on earth to live or dance.
It is but an unseemly error,
This wholly world of fluid terror,
Think not twice or multiples upon it,
Suffer the stones that bite to hit.
For once upon a broken time,
There was a cheapened hollow dime,
Whose mother eyed a parenthetical ghost,
Truth attired in a burning roast.
This then is the tale,
Of memories and mountains yet to scale,
Birds, mice, pearls and dice,
Plain secrets to unlock life’s holy device.
Living is more than getting the most,
Dying comes later in the laugh of the host,
He whose voice know’s of no other,
Sees the face of man’s earthly mother.
Its not make believe following the rules,
Nor a farce to question social tools,
A question of policy expressed in a letter,
A conceptual echo though hardly better.
Our day is here high to boot,
To laugh with the wind like an uncouth hoot,
The unborn faces of earthly flowers yet to come,
To rise, to whither, blasphemy for some.
Copyright © Yorn Called | Year Posted 2014
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